The nearest far away place. Yesterday the Hideaway was in classic form. It is nearly Halloween, yet it feels like the peak of summer. Nate and I snuck off down to the Hideaway to write music and get a taste of our definition of “the good life.” The offshore/side winds made the surf reminiscent of my travels alone in Costa Rica—big hollow lefts with wide open swooping faces. The side-wind would hit the lefts and they would suddenly open up as if just for you, to make room for you in the belly of its barrel. Hot air blasts past your face, and you’re half-dry by the time you pull out.
At night we lit a beachfire under the hut and jammed on the acoustic guitar and ukulele. The stars were clearer than normal. And the moon was a crooked smile in the sky, falling into deepening gold as it set on the horizon. Out in the water, waves were breaking and glowing blue with bioluminescence. Everytime a good one broke outside, the conversation turned to “Wow….”
If everyone had access to this kind of magic, the mail wouldn’t run on time, TV channels would turn to static, and the stiff corporations would need to fill a lot of vacant positions.
“The Parable of the Mexican Fisherman” is our state motto down here at the Hideaway.
